


And let the words fall out

by OnlySkyAboveMe



Series: Call me, call me any, anytime [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, No Angst, Not even the tiniest hint, Phone Calls & Telephones, Slice of Life, pretty much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 14:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlySkyAboveMe/pseuds/OnlySkyAboveMe
Summary: ‘If you need me, call meNo matter where you areNo matter how far’OrFive times Tessa immediately rings Scott to tell him exciting news, and one time she hesitates.





	And let the words fall out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KingdomLights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingdomLights/gifts), [Nats_North_by_North](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nats_North_by_North/gifts).



> This one's for Meg and Aimée - just spreading a little happiness xx
> 
> Thank you to Jazz, for writing life-saving fluff this week. And a huge thank you to Tara, for beta-ing this super fast for me, and giving me more ideas!!

_i._

_1997_

“Scotty!” His mother’s voice carries clearly down the basement stairs. He’s not listening though, he’s too busy focussing on the TV screen in front of him.

“Scott!” The call comes again. He hits pause on the Playstation controller in his hands.

“What?!” he hollers back, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“You have a phone call, honey.” Her voice is at normal volume now, having given up shouting for her son and coming to find him in person.

“But I just got my turn,” he whines in response, waving the controller at her in explanation. It had taken 10 minutes of pestering and 20 minutes of (somewhat) patient waiting for his brothers to finally allow him to have a go with their newest toy and he knew that if he let go of the controller now it would be an age before they let him get anywhere near it again.

“Don’t keep her waiting, Scott, that’s not polite.”

“Her?” Danny and Charlie both look towards their mother.

“Her?” repeats Scott, squeakily, his ears burning.

“You got a girlfriend, Scotty?” asks Charlie, poking his younger brother’s arm, to which Scott flinches and scowls.

“It’s Tessa,” explains his mother, ignoring her older sons’ teasing of their little brother for now.

“So yeah, it’s his girlfriend,” Danny mutters under his breath. Charlie snorts and Scott raises the controller as if to throw it at him.

Alma clears her throat loudly and pointedly and all three boys freeze where they are, slowly turning their heads to look up at her. She raises one eyebrow and Scott immediately drops the controller and gets to his feet to follow her up to the kitchen, where his mother hands over the phone.

“Hello?” he says, shyly. He’s never chatted on the phone much, only really ever to his grandparents or other family members, he feels very self-conscious talking to someone he cannot see.

“Hi Scott.” She sounds older on the phone; composed and confident. Perhaps, he thinks, talking when you can’t see someone is _easier_ for shy people like Tessa?

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she giggles.

He doesn’t really know what to say, they barely talk when they skate together, what would they have to say to each other outside of that?

“Er...hi.”

“We’ve already done that bit,” she says, seriously.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “Um...what’s up?” he asks, thinking about what he’s heard his brothers saying to their friends over the phone before.

“I wanted to tell you about the new dress my grandma bought me for our competition next weekend!” Her voice is full of excitement, and whilst a small part of him wants to roll his eyes that this _girl_ just wants to talk about a _dress_ when he could be playing Crash Bandicoot at this very moment, the rest of him finds her joy endearing and infectious.

“Cool,” he says enthusiastically, “what’s it like?”

Several minutes into her monologue about where the dress came from, and what colour it is, and what material it’s made of, and what that feels like, and is he still wearing the tux with the poofy collar he wore to their first competition a couple of months ago, he’s slightly regretting encouraging her. But then he realises she’s talked more to him in the last few minutes that she ever has in all the time they’ve known each other. He likes listening to her talk, he thinks, it’s soothing, relaxing, endearing.

“Scott?”

“Yup,” his mind drifted off for a moment there.

“What do you think?”

“I think it sounds great, I’m really looking forward to seeing it.”

“I can’t wait to show you. Oh, I’ll bring my new skate guards too, they’re _pink_!” He does roll his eyes at this.

“Cool. Well, I better go Tessa. I, uh, have chores to do.” He sees his mother raise her eyebrows from where she sits at the other end of the table doing the crossword in the Sunday paper.

“Ok. Well, I’ll see you on Tuesday then?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you then, Tessa.”

“You know, you can call me Tess if you like, I won’t mind.”

“Ok. Um, bye Tess,” he says with a small smile.

“Bye Scott.”

There’s a pause before the call disconnects, and he waits until he hears a click and the dialling tone before reaching up on his tiptoes to hang the phone back up on the wall.

“Everything ok?” Alma asks, putting her pen down on the table.

“Yep,” he says, wandering over and taking a seat next to her, shuffling the broadsheet pages until he finds the sports section, playing with the corner of the page as his eyes scan the pictures and scores on the pages.

Alma glances sideways at her youngest son, smiling to herself as she pushes her glasses up her nose and picks her pen back up, looking back at the puzzle.

_3 Down: Youthful Infatuation (5,4)_

* * *

_ii._

_1999_

He’s setting the table for dinner when the phone in the kitchen rings.

“Scott, honey, can you get that please?” his mother asks, holding up her hands, which are covered in bread dough, to demonstrate her inability to get it herself. Scott puts down the knives and forks in his hands and hurries over to the phone, lifting it off the hook and bringing it to his ear slightly nervously.

“Hello, this is the Moir household.” He glances over to his mother, who nods in approval at him answering the phone as she’d instructed.

“Hello, who’s that?” comes the female voice from the other end.

“Um, this is Scott speaking.”

“Hi Scott, it’s Kate. Kate Virtue.”

“Oh, hi Mrs. Virtue.”

“You’re just the person I was after. I have Tessa here to speak to you, hold on.”

There’s a rustle as the phone is passed over, and then, “Hi Scott!”

“Hi Tess.”

There’s a beat of silence; neither of them have quite got used to this chatting thing, they’ve only recently been able to look each other in the eye without feeling shy or uncomfortable. In the background he can hear Kate whispering to Tessa, prompting her to speak.

“Oh, yeah, so the reason I’m calling is to let you know that I’ve been invited to the National Ballet summer school.” Her voice is bursting with excitement.

“That’s cool. Where is it?”

“It’s in Toronto.”

“Neat. So will your Mom drive you for the day?”

“Um, the course lasts for four weeks.”

His heart sinks into his stomach. “Oh. So you won’t be at camp this summer?”

“No, sorry.”

There’s another awkward silence, he’s disappointed and he doesn’t know how to express that with words. He’d already chatted with his Aunt Carol about the music they could put a routine to, he’d wanted to surprise her with a song from ‘The Little Mermaid’ and the off-ice dance classes were always more fun when she was there too. Instead he fiddles nervously with the tangled cream cord of the phone, until suddenly the line goes completely dead.

“Oops,” he says, holding the receiver in one hand the the broken cord in the other. “Um, Mom?” He turns to his mother and holds out the broken phone to show her. She sighs as she dries her hands on the towel and walks over to take a look.

“Well, that was going to happen sooner or later. I’ll see if your father can fix it when he gets back in a bit.” She takes the phone out of his hands. “What did Tessa want?”

“To tell me she wouldn’t be at skating camp this summer,” he says looking at the floor.

“That’s a shame,” she says, comfortingly.

“She’s going to some ballet camp in Toronto instead,” he huffs, dropping into a chair.

“Oh, she got into the National Ballet summer school? Kate was telling me about the try-outs last month.”

“Yeah,” he says, darkly, in a full-on sulk now.

“It’s very prestigious and incredibly difficult to get into.”

“Really?” he says, still sounding grumpy.

“Yes, it is,” she says, her voice becoming stern. “She must be really excited?”

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs in response.

“Did you congratulate her?”

“Er...the phone broke,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“So, your friend told you exciting news and instead of saying congratulations you started sulking and then effectively hung up on her, is that right?” Alma asks, in that tone specially designed to terrify all the men in the Moir household.

Scott gulps and looks back down at the floor.

“Right, young man, we’re going to the rink.”

“The rink?” he squeaks, confused, watching his mother turn the heat off under the pasta sauce she’s making for dinner and collect her keys from the counter. “Why?”

“Because you need to make a phone call. We’ll chat on the way over.”

~~~

“Hi, Mrs. Virtue, is Tessa there please? It’s Scott.”

“Hi Scott, give me a sec.” There’s a pause and the sound of something hitting the receiver, presumably Kate’s rings as she puts her hand over the mouthpiece. A muffled discussion that he can’t make out goes on for a minute and he looks warily at his mother, who is sitting on the other side of the desk and smiles in encouragement. His attention is brought back to the phone when a small, sad voice speaks.

“Hello,” her voice is thick and hoarse - she sounds like she’s been crying. He knows better than to point that out though; several weeks ago she had fallen hard on her bottom during practice and tears had immediately sprung to her eyes. As he had helped her up he mentioned this and she had glowered so hard and skated away so quickly, he’d felt like he’d been doused in cold water.

“Hi Tess,” he launches right into what he wants to say before he forgets it all, resulting in a slightly garbled speech that leaves his mother gesturing at him to slow down. “I’m so so sorry for hanging up on you, the phone broke you see. I’m really glad you got into the summer school, my Mom says it’s super hard to get in so it’s really cool and really impressive that you did. I think it’ll be great, you’ll get to dance all day and learn a lot. I really hope you have a good time!”

She sniffles slightly. “Really?” she asks.

“Really,” he replies. “You’ll do great, you’ll have the best time.”

“Thanks, Scott.” He can hear her small smile in her voice.

“Just, don’t go enjoying it more than skating with me, okay?” He says it jokingly, but he means it.

“No, never,” she responds, dead serious.

* * *

_iii._

_2011_

He’s just pulling into his parent’s driveway as his phone starts ringing. Hanging his sunglasses off the collar of his t-shirt, he exits the car and answers it.

“Hey T, what’s up?” he asks, opening the trunk and surveying the grocery bags piled inside.

“So...you know that house I went to look at yesterday?”

“The fixer-upper?” he tucks his phone between his cheek and his shoulder and loads himself up with bags, ignoring the thought that Maria is going to take one look at him at Revolution tomorrow and criticise his posture.

“That’s the one,” Tessa replies happily. “I….so, yeah, I bought it.”

“You what?” He straightens up so quickly at this news that his phone tumbles to the ground, it’s fall broken, unfortunately, by his little toe. “Ow, jeezz,” he hisses, placing the bags down as gently as he can so as not to break the two dozen eggs his mother asked him to pick up for the big family brunch tomorrow. He scoops up his phone off the dusty gravel and puts it back to his ear.

“Scott? Are you there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He puts his hand on his hip and shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you bought the first house you looked at. Who are you and what have you done with Tessa Virtue?”

“Oh ha ha, like you’ve never thought with your heart over your head before!” she retaliates, a slight defensiveness to her voice.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Kiddo. I’m proud of you for doing it, just a bit surprised is all. It’s really exciting!”

“I think my Mom thought I was crazy,” she says. “I mean, it’s a lot of money, and it needs a lot of work, but I just couldn’t picture anyone else there except me, you know?”

“It sounds great, Kiddo, I can’t wait to see it.”

“Did you want to come over and see it tomorrow? The realtor said she was free to let me in.”

“Sure, if you’d like me to?”

“I’d like your opinion on the garage, I think I’d like to turn it into a den, but I’m not sure if it’ll work.” She sounds nervous, a little unsure.

“Ah yes, Scott Moir, world renowned architect, I’d forgotten that was part of my title after World and Olympic Champion.” She snorts and laughs.

“Please,” she says quietly, gently. “I’m more creative with you around, there’s no one else I can bounce ideas off, who I trust as much as you.”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He thinks back to two summers ago, when they were still repairing their broken friendship. She’d come into the rink and started talking about her brother’s wedding that past weekend and Scott realised he had no clue that Casey was even engaged. At some point in 2008 they had lost each other’s trust, and it was taking its sweet time to return. But her calling him now, telling him this, and asking him to help her with something so personal and meaningful; now he feels safe in the knowledge that they’re back on track as a team, but, most importantly, as friends.

“Of course, Tess. I’ll be there tomorrow. You want to come for brunch first?”

* * *

_iv._

_2013_

It’s the first time since the season began that he’s really had time to take her out on a proper date. Between the Grand Prix season, training, and filming for the show, the only free time he’s had of late has been spent refuelling his body, resting his sore muscles, and sleeping. So now they sit across from one another, studying their menus whilst their fingers are laced together atop the wooden table, the white tea light flickering gently between them.

“Pizza or pasta?” she asks, glancing up at him, rubbing his knuckle with her thumb.

“Hmm, probably neither,” he says, grimacing. “Saving my carb overload for Christmas day.”

“Sorry,” she says. “We could have gone somewhere else?”

“Nah, it’s fine. This place was easiest.”

That was not the right thing to say he realises as she drops his hand onto the table, pulling her own back to pick up her phone and check something, not hiding the annoyance in her expression.

“I’m sorry, Cass,” he says softly, holding his palm out towards her, inviting her to take his hand again. “That’s not what I meant. I just mean, I’m tired and I’m only home for a few days for the holidays before we have to go back to Canton, I need to use my time efficiently.”

Her glower in response makes him slowly slide his hand off the table and onto his lap, feeling like a scolded child. He huffs out a small sigh, he just can’t seem to do anything right these days. There’s a muffled buzzing from his jacket, his phone vibrating inside it’s chest pocket. Glancing up to see that his girlfriend is still engrossed on her phone he retrieves his own and feels no guilt in taking the call, despite it being from Tessa, who is definitely not Cassandra’s favourite person right now.

“Hey,” he says, getting up from the table and wandering towards the entrance of the restaurant, feeling Cassandra’s eyes boring into the back of his head as he goes.

“Scott?” Her voice is small and tinny, the quality of the line is poor. He can hear noise in the background, beeping and tannoy announcements, the sound of a siren in the distance. His palms begin to sweat and his heart begin to race, adrenaline kicking in.

“Tessa? Are you ok?” He pulls open the door and steps outside, prepared to run home to grab his car if he has to.

“Hang on,” she says, barely audible. He hears her runners squeaking on the floor and suddenly the line clears. “There, is that better?”

“Much. Where are you, are you ok?”

“I’m at the hospital, but I’m fine.”

“The hospital? Tess-”

“With Megan, she just had her baby.”

“Oh.”

“I’m an Auntie,” she squeaks excitedly. “An _official_ one!”

“Hey you’re an official Moir auntie too you know; blood’s got nothing to do with it.”

“You’re sweet. To be honest that’s not really why I’m calling.”

“No?”

“No. I’m calling because I need you promise me that if I say next year, or in three years, or in 10 years that I want to have a baby, that you’ll remind me that I really don’t!”

He’s taken aback by this. “I’m not sure if I can do that, Tess. I think you’d be a great Mom when the time comes-”

“Scott, when was the last time you watched a woman give birth to a child?”

“Errr…”

“Exactly. Thanks to my brother’s trip to the hardware store without his phone and my mother deciding to take Jordan to do some last minute Christmas shopping, guess who got to hold the hand of her sister-in-law as she pushed a human being out of her in the back of an ambulance in the hospital parking lot after what the paramedic described as, quote ‘the fastest labour I’ve ever seen’?”

“Yikes.”

“Not exactly the first word that came to mind for me, I’m not going to lie!”

“Jeez, Tess. That’s intense. Is everyone ok?”

“Oh yeah,” he imagines her waving her hand flippantly. “Megan and the baby are just fine - a little girl by the way, Poppy Katherine. It’s me who needs a stiff drink and a sedative right about now.”

“Do you need me to come and get you?” he glances through the window to see Cass still on her phone, her chin resting in her free hand. He senses a difficult conversation coming, and to be honest he’d rather be anywhere else right now.

“No, no it’s fine. It was just...a lot, and a bit scary for a moment there when she started screaming and the ambulance hadn’t arrived. But Casey is here now, and Mom and Jordan are on their way to pick me up.”

“If you’re sure?” He senses he’s not going to get the escape route he wanted.

“I’m sure, thanks though. You should stop in tomorrow and say hi to everyone, I know my Mom would like to see you. They’re releasing Megan and Poppy in the morning they said, so I guess you can meet the newest Virtue too. I know how much you love holding babies.”

“Sure, that sounds great. Text me what time and I’ll swing by, might bring my Mom too, I swear if she doesn’t get to hold a baby every few weeks she gets the shakes.”

Tessa laughs heartily on the other end of the phone and he smiles, relaxing enough now to suddenly feel the freezing temperature of the canopied area outside the restaurant.

“Okay, I’ve got to go. Send everyone my best.”

“Will do. And thanks, for picking up the phone and listening. I needed to just, get that out.”

“Any time, you know that.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“See you tomorrow, Auntie Tessa.”

* * *

_v._

_2018_

He groans as the shrill sound of ‘Marimba’ wakes him with a start, he rubs his bleary eyes and tries to shake the image of Gabi and Gui dressed as mascots designed to look like him and Tessa out of his brain, a cruel prank plagued by his fever-ridden subconscious.

“Hello,” he manages to croak out. He clears his throat, but it only makes his voice worse as he wheezes out, “Tess?”

“Oh god,” she says quietly, her own voice scratchy and a few tones lower than normal, “I woke you up didn’t I? I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay,” he mumbles, rubbing his eye, wincing as the sandy discharge scratches at his eyelids, before he decides to close them again to avoid any more pain.

“I thought I’d showed you how to put your phone on ‘do not disturb’?”

“Yeah, you did, but you’re on my ‘allowed calls’ list,” he rasps, wishing he’d put a glass of water on his nightstand before he settled down for a nap, body feeling too heavy to try and move right now.

“It’s not very effective then if you allow your whole contact list to still be able to call you,” she says, amused.

“S’not,” he mumbles, feeling his body getting heavier as sleep tries to take over again. “S’just you, Mom, and Dad.”

“Oh.” She sounds genuinely surprised. “I’m honoured.”

“Well, you are important, even if you did get me sick!”

“And who got me sick to begin with, hmm?” He knows she’s raising her eyebrows and tilting her head at him, and he smiles to himself.

“Mmmm…”

“Scott?” her voice is a little louder now, and he jerks awake, having nodded off for a fraction of a second.

“Hey, Tess,” he yawns sleepily. “Whassup?”

She giggles throatily. “Wake up sleepy head, I have something exciting to tell you.”

“I’m all ears kiddo,” he says, trying to pry one eye open but squeezing it tightly shut against at the light that streams in through the join in the curtains.

“I just got off the phone with Nivea.”

“The face cream people?”

She chuckles. “Yes, them. They want me to be their Canadian brand ambassador.”

“What’s a brand ambassador?” he asks, his brain foggy with fatigue and fever.

“I’m basically going to be the face of Nivea in Canada; I’ll be in their commercials and print media, and be a spokesperson.”

“Wow, that’s amazing, Tess. Congratulations.” He props himself up on his elbows, but the shift in position causes his breath to catch in his throat and he spends the next several minutes coughing, deep, crackling, rib aching coughs that overtake his entire body and leave him shaking and gasping for breath.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly once his coughing has stopped and he is taking shuddering breaths through his nose, pushing away the urge to vomit, such was the violence of the fit.

“Fine,” he finally manages to croak out, his eyes streaming and throat raw, chest heaving. “I’m so proud of you, Tess.”

“Thanks, Kiddo. Now go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” he breathes wheezily, closing his eyes and sinking back into his pillows. His phone falls from his ear and onto the sheets next to him, the screen illuminating as it falls, the call still in progress. Only when she hears his soft, steady snoring does she hang up.

Four hours later and he’s just sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as the doorbell rings. He pulls his dressing gown around him as he stumbles down the dark hallway to the door, fumbling with the deadbolt before opening it to a rush of cold evening air. On his doorstep stands Tessa, wearing a cashmere coat over her fluffy grey onesie, a Team Canada toque and a sheepish smile, in her hands she carries a bag of takeout and large bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice. He opens his mouth to greet her but ends up sneezing instead.

“Well hello to you too,” she giggles, pushing past him to get out of the cold and into the warmth of his living room. Bemused, he shuffles into the kitchen to grab cutlery and glasses, shoving a handful of tissues into his pockets for good measure.

“Hurry up, Scott!” comes her call from down the hall. “Jeopardy’s starting.”

* * *

_vi._

_2020_

She sits on her bed and stares at the new diamond ring on her finger. It sits oddly next to the rings she normally wears on her middle finger - she’ll have to move them over to her other hand. She thinks about how much she used to fiddle with those rings when she was anxious or uncomfortable; when she waited to compete and had to talk to reporters who wanted to know more than they would ever be entitled to.

He’s taken to reaching for her when she does this now - his large, strong, warm (always warm) hand enveloping hers easily - and he’ll squeeze it gently in reassurance. He had done this last night when they sat across from one another at the candlelit table in a tiny bistro in downtown Montreal.

His question had shocked her, even though she had sensed it coming for a while now. Her reaction had surprised her too; her eyes immediately flooding with tears as he set the ring box down on the crisp white table cloth in front of her and began to ask her to marry him. His speech was short, but full of love, admiration and passion, and by the end a few tears had slipped past her lashes and fallen slowly down her delicately freckled cheeks. She had nodded furiously as she stammered her affirmative reply, never more sure of something in her life. Her heart stuttered in her chest as he carefully pushed the ring onto her finger; the delicate, white gold band studded alternately with old cut diamonds and emeralds.

After a celebratory slice of the restaurant’s homemade chocolate gateaux and another glass of champagne they had returned home. They celebrated for the rest of the evening; against the front door, on the sofa, in the shower, on top of the rumpled bed sheets, cushions and pillows strewn on the floor around them, her new ring sparkling brightly where her hands grasped tightly to the headboard. They finally drifted off at around 3am, her tucked against his chest, hands clasped around his. He’d snuck out of bed a few hours later, pressing a kiss to her temple and whispering his love to her as he left for work, leaving her cocooned in the blankets, her tangled hair fanning across the still pillow-less bed.

Now it’s nearly 11am and she still staring at her ring as she turns her phone over and over in her other hand. She doesn’t know who to call. Her mother already knows - ever the traditionalist and a gentleman, he had asked for her blessing before he proposed, though she supposes she should actually call to say it’s actually happened. She should call Jordan too, but she’s been on Japan on business and is currently 40,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean.

She’s torn; because Scott is always the first person she calls when exciting things happen in her life. But she can’t call him about this, and it’s causing her insides to twist uncomfortably. Her brain feels like it is short circuiting as she looks at his name at the top of her favourites list in her contacts. It feels _wrong_ to not call him. Her thumb trembles at it hovers over the call button. Taking a deep breath she taps it quickly, before she chickens out, raising her phone to her ear.

The longer it rings the more she silently begs it to go to voicemail instead. Actually, she’s really wishing she hadn’t hit call at all, because once it started ringing he will know she tried to call him and he will call her back. She’s desperately trying to think on her feet of something she can say in her voicemail, something mundane about coffee or dinner perhaps, when he answers.

“Hey Tess,” he says, brightly, the distinct sound of blades on ice and music playing over a tinny speaker in the background.

“Hi Scott,” she breathes, both relieved and nervous to hear his voice.

“You okay Kiddo?” he asks, the background noise quieting - he must have stepped off the ice and into the office to take the call.

She finds herself breaking into a huge, beaming smile. “I’m great!” she sighs, happily.

“Well I’m very glad to hear that, T.” She can hear his smile through his voice. They’ve got to the point now where she swears she can feel his happiness from a different city, and hear his laughter despite him being on the other side of the world.

“I have some exciting news,” she says, quietly, feeling shy and pulling the blanket tighter around herself as if for protection.

“Do you now?” His voice is laced with amusement.

“Yeah. You know I always call you first whenever I have something to share. Always have and always will.”

He hums in affirmation, the faint rhythm of a march being played in the rink still audible in the background.

She takes a deep breath. “I’m getting married,” she says on the exhale, relief flooding through her immediately.

There is silence on the other end of the phone and her contented smile starts to falter. After a moment, though, she hears his soft chuckle.

“Babe.”

He says it so gently, laced with so much compassion and love. She can hear the upwards twitch of his lips around the term of endearment.

“I know you are.

I designed you that ring.

I slid it onto your finger last night.

And I left you wearing nothing but it in our bed this morning.”

She lets out a noise somewhere between a snort and a giggle, covering her eyes with her hand. He joins her in her mirth, continuing his soft, breathy chuckling from before.

“I love you so much,” she whispers.

“I love you too, Babe.”

“Come home soon, okay?”

“Always, my love.”

“Because…” she says as she lays back down on the rumpled sheets and sighs, lowering his voice a couple of tones, “...I’m exactly where and _how_ you left me.”

She hears his rough swallow on the other end of the line, before the unmistakable sound of the office door being wrenched open. The line is muffled suddenly, presumably by him pressing his hand against the microphone.

“Patch! I need to go.”

The urgency in his voice makes even _her_ believe there is an emergency and he needs to leave the rink as soon as possible. Patrice must respond in agreement to his request to leave because soon there’s rustling and the sounds of zippers on clothes and bags, followed by the slamming of a metal locker. She hears heavy doors creaking before the sound of wind, traffic and faint birdsong fills her ears, accompanied by his heavy footfall and quick breathing.

“Are you running back from the rink?” she asks, laughing.

“I’d swim across oceans for you, Babe. Particularly if it would avoid Montreal traffic!”

She laughs heartily, keeping her phone tightly to her ear as she shuts her eyes and listens to his journey through the streets of Montreal.

She must nod off for the briefest moment, because she is jolted awake by the sound of the front door slamming both down the corridor and in her ear over the phone. The bedroom door opens and she props herself up on her elbows, looking over at him. He’s a bit sweaty, the puffer jacket he wears at the rink is half unzipped with his toque poking out of one of the pockets. His eyes find hers, both of them staring at each other with their phones still pressed to their ears.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”


End file.
